


Two Steps Back

by taichara



Category: Street Fighter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 11:59:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6194363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taichara/pseuds/taichara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Ryu doesn't want to deal with Ken's "issues", he should maaaaybe pay more attention when he makes his counterarguments.</p>
<p>Especially when he argues with his fists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Steps Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merfilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merfilly/gifts).



It was a lovely seaside evening, and not the first one this summer. The sun was just starting to creep towards the horizon; there was barely a wisp of cloud in the sky; no real wind, just a refreshing breeze to balance the summer heat ... it was, if one asked Ken Masters, the perfect time for a bracing couple of nights of kicking his fellow martial artist's arses.

Naturally, it'd be boring to do it all on his lonesome, so he'd -- with the usual song and dance -- tracked down Ryu and passed the invitation along. Now he'd found himself killing some time on the wharves, feeding the gulls and waiting for the steamer Ryu was supposed to be on to arrive. And when it finally pulled into port, Ryu was striding down the gangplank almost before the crew had gotten it anchored in place ... which meant that Ken got to waste no time in getting a good look at him.

Unfortunately.

"Uggggh ... Seriously, Ryu? Seriously? You're planning to show your face at the next tournament looking like _that_?"

Ken peered at his buddy though his fingers -- or he would have been peering, if the rest of his hand hadn't been in the way. Because _this_ , oh yes, was a first class, ultimate facepalm moment if ever there was one. 

Not that Ryu seemed to care, or even grasp any sense behind Ken's outburst. Dropping his duffel to the wharf's worn planking, he plucked at the front of his gi with both hands, studying the fabric for a second or two, then shrugged.

"It's ... white? It's the same kind of thing I always wear, I don't see the problem ...?"

"That's _exactly_ the problem!"

Ken threw his hands up, emphatic enough to startle the gulls hovering around, hoping for handouts. Of course Ryu was going to be obtuse, or obstinate, or -- or whatever or- word you wanted to slap on him. Whatever.

"I don't care if you wear the same _kind_ of thing, man, but that wreck looks like it's literally _the same thing_ as, oh, the last three competitions -- no, don't open your mouth, I know I don't want to know the answer. God, at least show _some_ kind of self-awareness sometimes.

"I'm dragging you downtown and we're getting you clothes that aren't falling apart. Gi, even; it won't be that hard --"

"I'd rather not."

Say what. Ken scraped his hand through his hair, silently begging for patience.

"Ryu, it's not a matter of 'rather'. You look like you've been wrestling trees in your clothes and sleeping in the wreckage."

The little smile -- that _was_ a little smile, the shit! -- that flickered across Ryu's face was explanation enough. With another shrug, he scooped up his duffel by the drawstring and slung it back over his shoulder.

"More or less? You should try some solitary meditation training, you know. I think it'd do you good; you're too wound up. There's more important things than how you dress, you clotheshorse."

Patience. Please. Ken's eyes rolled skyward.

"This isn't about being a clotheshorse, it's about looking vaguely presentable in public. Seriously, man, don't go to the matches like that -- you'll be a laughingstock. No one's going to take you seriously when you look like a hobo ..."

Ryu eyed Ken suspiciously as the blonde trailed off. He didn't trust that sudden speculative look for one single moment --

"Tell you what, Ryu. Show me how wrestling trees and rolling in the dirt's been good training -- let's have a show, right here.

"You win, I leave you alone and you get to deal with the fallout. I win and you make an effort to wear something that's not falling apart."

... Damnit, Ken knew just what buttons to push, didn't he. But being stuck on a boat that long _was_ boring, and he _could_ use the workout ... and one way or the other, Ken would have to stop bugging him. 

Ryu dropped his duffel again, hands flashing into a ready stance.

"Whenever you're ready --"

The flash of Ken's sudden and very evil grin was the only head's-up Ryu had before the blonde was all in his strike zone, fists flying. Ryu weaved and backstepped, lashing out with a sweep kick that bowled Ken over -- but the blonde righted himself with a kipup so quickly he hardly seemed to touch the wood of the wharf before he was countering with a rising uppercut, still grinning.

"Not bad, but kinda stale --"

"Hn --"

Ken had clearly indulged in some intensive training of his own, in fact; he was launching spin kicks and more uppercuts with a fluidity that Ryu had to appreciate even as he blocked the incoming blows. But they were starting to draw a crowd from the dockworkers and passing fishermen, and Ryu was _not_ interested in drawing that much attention. Not right now, and not in the middle of the dockyards.

"I think it's time to wrap this up. Sorry, Ken, you lose this time."

He drew on his chi reserves, felt the fires rush through his veins and converge on his hands. One well-placed shoryuken and that would be the end of this "show" of Ken's, and he could just be comfortable and not dealing with the madness of a shopping trip. 

Ryu ducked under Ken's high kick, planted his feet, and drew back his arms to launch the projectile --

\-- Ken, eyes wide, started to yell something, waving his arms, scrabbling off the wharf completely (the chicken) --

\-- the flash of brilliance of a successful shoryuken roared through the air ...

... accompanied by an ominous _crack_.

And the entire wharf crumpled into the murk of the harbour, taking Ryu right along with it. 

Ken at least had the decency to give him a hand up from the boardwalk's edge; but not so much that he wasn't laughing himself half to death while he did it. Ryu was more than soaked, he was so filthy he looked like a mudman.

" _Now_ you don't have a choice. We're not just getting you competition clothes, we're gonna be replacing half your kit after this stunt.

"That's what you get for getting cocky, you know. Besides, that's _my_ job."


End file.
